


Still Dying to Know What's Exciting

by the_constant_reader



Category: Sicario (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Dom/sub Undertones, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, If You Squint - Freeform, Older Man/Younger Woman, Sexual Inexperience, Slow Burn, Smut, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26321803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_constant_reader/pseuds/the_constant_reader
Summary: You were saved from an explosion when you were barely 15, the remnants of that day clinging to your mind in the shape of one nameless, enigmatic figure.Years later, you unexpectedly cross paths, and your world is upended.
Relationships: Alejandro Gillick/Original Female Character(s), Alejandro Gillick/You
Comments: 9
Kudos: 30





	Still Dying to Know What's Exciting

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title borrowed from Bedouine's 'Back to You'.
> 
> Alternate title: But That's My Emotional Support Elaborate Fantasy Scenario
> 
> Or: Benicio Del Toro is smoking fucking hot in Sicario.

_Juarez, Mexico._

It was still difficult for you to fully recollect the events of that morning among the smoke and the dust and the persistent, faint ringing in your head. You knew you had wandered off from your parents to peer into a shop window, keeping half an eye on them up ahead. You remembered your father squinting through the viewfinder of his camera and your mother flipping carefully through a guidebook, mouthing the words quietly to herself as she read.

What was less clear in your mind, however, is what happened in the seconds after you saw your father lower his camera to peer at the guidebook with your mother, the world around you suddenly enveloped in piercing brightness, then absolute dark. You had been told much later, sitting in the back of an ambulance, that there had been an explosion, your already addled brain struggling to understand the heavily accented English of the paramedic as she sat next to you, voice soft. She dabbed at a small cut above your left eyebrow, and the sting of the antiseptic momentarily broke through the haze.

“…as far as we know, a boiler in a house in the street behind exploded…”

Her voice drifted in and out, muffled by the thumping behind your eyes and the fading yet constant, bright ring in your ears. You had been able to clean your face and hands, but your clothes were still caked in dust and grit. You were almost able to draw patterns in the grime coating your thighs.

Though the world around you still hummed, one constant remained in your mind – the remembered feeling of a stranger’s body, large and solid, pressed over yours, holding you against the sidewalk. Though his face was as grey with dust as you were sure yours was, you remembered the intense hazel of his eyes boring into yours. He had helped you off the street to lean against a wall, his hands, calloused and warm, gripping your shoulders as he talked to you.

You couldn’t remember a word he had said, of course, but his face, his gentleness, his kindness, was etched firmly in your mind. You took a small sip from the water the paramedic had given to you. Though it hurt to talk or to do anything, really, you were compelled to ask after him.

“There was a man that helped me when the explosion went off…he helped me off the street, I think, and sat with me for a while, but I don’t know his name. Was there anyone with me when you found me?”

The paramedic – who you now remembered had told you her name was Martina – shook her head. “The only people that were with you were your parents. They’re still talking to the police, but they’re right over there.”

Martina pointed to the white cop car sitting perhaps a dozen paces away, your parents deep in conversation with one of the officers. Her radio suddenly crackled to life, and she spoke swiftly into it in Spanish before laying a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“I need to see to something else for a minute. Would you stay here for me?”

You nodded, and she smiled, brushing a few loose strands of dark hair away from her face. You shut your eyes and leaned your head against the cool metal of the door, the image of the stranger’s face burning behind your eyelids.

* * *

He didn’t know what had compelled him to push you and dive over you, shielding your body with his. Perhaps it could be chalked up to some sort of unconscious reflex, a paternal instinct, even. He had seen the telephone pole rock and shift with the blast, your body right in its path, and his body had decided to take over.

You were young, he remembered – 15 or 16 at the most. Around the same age as his daughter. As he shifted you out of the rubble, he noted the blood running down your face, the bewilderment in your eyes, how your body shook.

He had tried to be reassuring as he checked you for more serious injuries, trying to talk to you but unsure of how much was getting through, both because of the glassiness of your eyes and the growing caterwaul of voices around you both.

He sat with you as the scene filled with cars and sirens and people. Accepted your mother’s frantic embrace when your parents found you. And though he knew that, by rights, he should have stayed and talked to the cops, he was deeply aware of his own family at home not two blocks over. And so he quietly slipped away.

* * *

_Eight years later. Laredo, United States._

Regretting leaving your shopping until Saturday, you scanned the food court for an empty table, the tray in your arms starting to get heavy. The echo and din of countless families rang in your good ear, and as you finally flopped yourself down into a vacant chair, you relinquished the tray and removed your glasses to pinch the bridge of your nose. Already weary at the thought of having to navigate the grocery store, you set to eating your surprisingly decent wonton soup with a heavy sigh. You knew that the book sitting in your bag needed reading – that paper wouldn’t write itself, after all – but the lure of your phone proved too strong, so you began the mindless scroll.

Once you had finished your lunch, you gathered your things and began threading your way through the tables. You were too distracted rearranging your bag to notice the tall figure approaching until the two of you collided, your tray and his phone flying.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry, I should’ve been watching where I was going,” you gasped, retrieving his phone from behind you.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it, I wasn’t paying attention either,” he responded. You handed his phone to him as you took your tray back, seeing his face properly for the first time. A spark of recognition fired in your head, and you saw the same spark reflected in his expression.

You took in the piercing hazel of his eyes, ringed in dark, the shock of salt and pepper hair, the full mouth, now partially hidden by a goatee. His face was sterner than you remembered, but it was _him_. That kind stranger in Juarez from all those years ago. He opened his mouth to speak just as you did, and your words jumbled over each other.

“I don’t know if you remember – “

“Of _course_ I remember – “

You both stopped. A wave of emotion rolled through you, snippets of that day suddenly shoved to the front of your mind. You felt tears, entirely unbidden, well in your eyes, and he gave you a small smile. Yet you saw pain mirrored in his face.

“I – God – I have so many questions, so many things to say to you, I don’t even know where to start,” you said, your words coming out in a rush. “You saved my life that day, but I don’t even know your name.”

“Alejandro.”

“Alejandro,” you echoed, “I’m Y/N. Is it weird if I give you a hug? Is that okay?”

He smiled a little wider. “No, not weird.”

Though you barely knew the man, you got the sense that Alejandro was the quiet type, his eyes expressive enough to make up for the lack of words. And as you carefully pulled him into a hug and felt him gently squeeze you back, you felt complete calm move through you. Cliché as it was, a sense of closure, even.

You eventually pulled away, desperate to ask more yet fearful of coming across too strong. He had been something of an apparition in your mind since that day in Juarez, floating in and out of clarity. He spoke before you had the chance to form another garbled sentence.

“Can I confess something?”

“Of course.”

“I never stopped thinking about you.” He moved and sat on the small bench behind him, and you sat to his right. “I don’t know how clear that day is for you, but I remember it so vividly. How old were you?”

“Nearly 15. I was down there with my parents on holiday.”

He scrubbed a hand down his face. “So young.” You saw something flash across his face, gone almost as quickly as it had formed.

“I never stopped thinking about you either. You saved my life, how could I not?” you suddenly clapped a hand over your mouth. “Did I ever even thank you?”

“You were so out of it… I don’t think you could have.”

Though your memory of his face was no doubt tainted, both by time and trauma, you found yourself saddened by how _beaten_ he seemed, his face seeming far more than eight years older. He felt bigger though, somehow broader. More imposing.

The utter strangeness of your relationship was not at all lost on you. Your bond seemed so deep, and yet at the same time one of absolute shallowness. You didn’t know what he did for a living, whether he had a family or not, why he was even _in_ Laredo. It was bizarre enough that your paths had converged again after so long, let alone the fact that he was actually here in the flesh, not just dwelling, spectre-like, in the reaches of your memory.

* * *

It was still difficult for him to comprehend how his afternoon had taken such a sharp right turn. He was only meant to be in Laredo for another day before he and Matt headed back south and into the carnage once more.

He had come to expect the unexpected in his line of work, but nothing had prepared him for _this_. As soon as he had seen your face, flushed slightly and embarrassed, the never-really-forgotten visions of that day in Juarez had rushed back to the front of his mind. You looked older, of course, carrying yourself like a woman rather than a girl. But you still bore the faint scar of that cut above your eyebrow, and the way you tilted your head when he spoke suggested deafness in one of your ears.

What stung him most was the fact that you were one of the few remaining links to his life before… well, before everything. After the explosion that day, when he had gone back home to his family, he so clearly remembered his wife sitting in that crumbling old chair by the stove, the crease in her forehead pronounced with worry. Her and their daughter had been ripped from him not more than two weeks after the fact.

If the murder of his family represented the breaking of the wave that was his life, you were the rolling back, the settling. The physical reminder that whatever version of him that existed eight years ago was a good and decent man. He had never truly felt guilt over what he had morphed into, the promise of retribution always satisfying its means. But now that you were here, knees brushing his on this uncomfortable bench, his dogged certainty seemed to be slipping.

* * *

That night, the blazing heat of the day having long settled, you sat out on the crumbling old porch that branched off from your kitchen. The buzz of the crickets was almost deafening, punctuated only by the faint sounds of the main road off in the distance.

You had been reluctant to leave Alejandro that afternoon, an oddly possessive fear coming over you at the thought. Despite having sat and talked for the better part of an hour – you learning he worked for the government (though in what capacity he seemed reluctant to say), him finding out about what you were studying among other banalities of your life – you were still practically strangers. He seemed to you both open and guarded, far happier to listen than to talk.

You had left him with your number when you parted ways that afternoon, and he had accepted the little slip of paper with a small smile. You honestly weren’t sure if you were overstepping some sort of boundary with him, his face was so cryptic – he still had a ring on his finger, after all. Despite how enigmatic he was, you still sensed a faint undercurrent of danger in him, in the way he held himself, in the fall of his face.

Life in Texas – first in El Paso, then in Laredo once you had moved away from home – had never been exciting. Sure, you were right on the Mexican border, only miles away from that place the news presented as so wild and lawless. But whatever fantasies you had harboured at 15 of travel and adventure, romance even, had gradually slipped away as you progressed through high school and then college, your present existing in that frustrating liminal space somewhere between adolescence and true adulthood. Though you tried not to dwell too heavily on the event itself, some small part of you knew that that day in Juarez had been, while traumatic both in a physical and mental sense, one of the most exciting days of your life. And Alejandro, for all his secrets, represented a link to that. You had never been interested in buying into that whole damsel in distress trope and you cringed at the fact that the memory of being saved still caused a sharp thrill to run through you.

You regretted not bringing a blanket outside with you as the air continued to cool. The boards of the deck creaked a little under your weight as you retreated into the comparative warmth of your kitchen. The house, approaching its thirtieth year, had never been terribly good at keeping out the air, but it was on nights like these that you were grateful for its quirks as it held onto the heat of the day. Moving absentmindedly through all the bedtime rituals, you fell asleep that night with the image of Alejandro still in your mind, his eyes, almost cat-like, burning into your dreams.

* * *

_Three months later. Laredo._

You felt your concentration slipping as your third lecture for the day dragged on. You checked your watch – forty minutes to go. Pushing your glasses up to rub your eyes, you were thankful you had chosen a seat at the back of the hall. You still weren’t sure why you had chosen the history of the Weimar Republic to fill the gap in your timetable, but it was only two weeks until you broke for the holidays. It had been your plan to head back to El Paso and your parents’ house, but some small part of you wanted to stay in town as the university emptied out. How you were planning to explain that decision to them was anyone’s guess.

Your phone buzzed in your jacket pocket and you subtly slipped it out, fully aware of your professor’s hawk eyes. An unknown number flashed up on the screen, so you thumbed the reject button and attempted to shift your focus back to whatever your professor was saying. His class was interesting enough, but he had a voice so nasal it sounded like a swarm of bees was delivering the lecture.

The vibration of your phone buzzed against your hip a second time. Glancing at it, you saw a text from the same number.

_This is Alejandro. Please call me back when you get the chance._

You felt your heartbeat quicken. It had been radio silence from Alejandro since that day in the mall. You’d wondered about him often, the memory of his face and your conversation often cutting through the white noise of your thoughts on those days that schoolwork overwhelmed you. You toyed with the idea of slipping out of the lecture early, your seat tantalisingly close to the exit. But you were still that good girl, that teacher’s pet at heart, so you sat through the rest of the lecture, mind on anything but its contents.

As soon as the lecture finished, you grabbed your already-packed bag and were first out the door, unlocking your phone as you found a spot in the sun. Typical of Texas winters, the weather that day was warm in the afternoon, but now tending mild enough that you wish you’d packed a jacket – though you knew the goose bumps on your arms were from more than just the breeze. Quickly, you found Alejandro’s number, and tapped the call button.

It had surprised you that you hadn’t told your parents about your chance meeting with the man that had saved their daughter’s life. You weren’t really sure why you had decided to keep it to yourself – maybe 23 straight years of them knowing almost every detail of your life, even while you were 600-odd miles away in Laredo, made you want to keep at least one thing close to your chest.

The phone rang four times before you heard movement on the other end, and then that gruff, slightly adenoidal voice.

_“Hello?”_

“Alejandro. Hi. How-how are you?”

A quiet sigh. “ _Doing okay. How are things with you?”_

“I’m well, yeah. End of semester and all that, you know.”

He laughed a little, and you smiled at the sound. _“Yeah.”_

“So… what’s going on?” He _had_ been the one to ring you, after all.

_“I’m just in town for a couple of days and was thinking about you.”_

You flushed a little at that. It was a rare occurrence for a man to think about you, even if he was probably older than your father and just a friend – well, actually, you were still a little hazy on just _what_ he was to you.

“Well, thanks for thinking of me.”

You could hear his smile as he responded. _“I don’t want to be too forward, but do you want to meet up? Not many people I know in Laredo other than you.”_

“That’d be really nice, Alejandro,” you responded, trying not to sound too eager. The few friends you had from college weren’t exactly the most… social types. Come to think of it, you weren’t sure that you were, either.

The pair of you decided that Alejandro would pick you up and you’d choose the place to eat, so you headed down to the parking lot to wait for him.

You always thought of yourself as a fairly even-keeled sort of a person – whenever anyone asked you how school was going, or how work was going, you always had the same answer. _Going fine, doing well, all good_. Even your choice of college had been safe. Your high school friends had all headed off to Austin and beyond, whereas you were still a day (albeit a long one) away from your parents. But ever since that day at the mall, keeping your little Alejandro-shaped secret had been a sort of thrill in your life, upsetting that equilibrium in the best way.

* * *

He didn’t fully know what had made him call you. Maybe it was fact that all the chaos below the border wasn’t occupying his thoughts anymore, Matt having sent him back to the States to ‘get some fucking rest’. Maybe it was the knowledge that Christmas – alone, in a town he barely knew – was fast approaching, barely more than two weeks out.

Or maybe he just wanted to see you? Perhaps he just didn’t want to admit he was softening as he moved further into his fifties.

No matter how much he tried to shove the thoughts of precisely _why_ he called, _why_ he was thinking about you, that analytical, investigative streak took over. It had been honed by the years of interrogating he had under his belt, and while it had proven vital for that side of his life, he found that he couldn’t turn it off any more than he could stop himself from breathing.

He sighed, shifting his focus back to the GPS on the dash. He had been driving the rental – a lifeless little Civic – for 3 days now and still hadn’t managed to get the seat adjusted right. Turning into the parking lot, he slowed when he saw you and pulled to the curb. You were shielding your eyes against the late afternoon sun, looking through the tint of the window. He gave a small wave, and you smiled and hopped in.

You spoke first. “Hi.”

“Hi. You changed your hair.”

You let out a little laugh. Self-consciousness, maybe? “Yeah, it was time for a change. Long hair and Texas summers don’t exactly mix well.”

“It suits you.” He saw you tuck one side of it behind your ear in his peripheral vision.

“Thank you.”

There was silence for a few moments as he formulated what to say next, fully aware of the abruptness of his phone call, of the incessant oddness of your relationship. Odd but comforting.

“So, what’s got you back in Laredo? Work?” you asked, tone casual.

“Something like that.” He knew he didn’t need to be as evasive as he was, but he also knew you weren’t the sort to pry. Although the pair of you were close enough to have a meal together, there was still this sense of dancing around each other’s lives, partially in, mostly out.

He took a breath. “How’s college? Or are you sick of that question?”

You laughed. “It’s going well, I think.” He saw your head move to face him, and he quickly took his eyes off the road to consider your own. “I’m in a bit of a funny place, though, I guess. I’m ready to be done with all of this, but I’m also really, really not. Being a proper adult, working full time, paying a mortgage… well... it seems scary.”

“You’re a smart girl. You’ll be fine.”

The rest of the drive was mainly filled with small talk, punctuated by you giving directions to the restaurant you’d chosen. The longer he spent with you, the more Alejandro remembered why he had held off on calling you for three months. The conflict tugged at his heart – he knew he couldn’t bring an innocent young woman into the turmoil that was his life, yet he ached for the normality of a friendship, of a connection outside all that bloodshed. He felt it pulse, persistent, in his chest as he parked the car and you both walked up, the dusk settling in around you.

* * *

Later that night, dinner long over, you and Alejandro sat in the gradually quieting restaurant. You swirled the dregs of your cocktail around in its glass. He had stuck to beer, trying only a sip of your fruity cocktail before comically scrunching up his nose, making you giggle over the sudden boyishness of his face. A lull in the conversation, and whatever liquid courage your two drinks had instilled in you, compelled you to ask something that had been on your mind for a while.

“Do you have a family, Alejandro?”

A flicker of pain shot across his face, and you immediately wished you could scoop your words right out of the air and back into your mouth.

“Oh my god, Alejandro, I’m so – “

“No, please, it’s okay. I just… it’s not something I talk about very often.”

That pain was still lingering in his eyes, and you laid a gentle hand on his arm. He took a deep breath.

“They died. Well, they were killed.”

You clapped your hand to your mouth. He was plainly rallying his thoughts, not fully making eye contact, and though you still regretted your words, you felt unbelievably privileged to be privy to something so private, so dreadful.

“I’ve always been hesitant to tell you the details of what I do. And you’ve always been kind enough not to pry. But… fuck… I’ve kept so much of this hidden for so long... maybe it’s the beer, maybe it’s the fact that you seem to care about this sad old man, God knows why…”

And as the restaurant emptied out, Alejandro told you all that had happened in the years between now and Juarez. A lump formed in your throat and a pang in your chest as he sketched out nearly a decade of his life that had been spent entangled in a futile, unwinnable war, governed by cruelty and corruption from both sides of the border. Though you had always felt indebted to this enigmatic man, you felt that bond grow stronger as you recognised how hard he had fought for very little. You knew very well you were no replacement for his family, but what was the significance of all of _this_? The deep, heartfelt confession, the unmistakeable sense that he was relieving himself of an unimaginably heavy burden?

The sound of the waitstaff stacking chairs cut through Alejandro’s voice, and he pulled himself away from your conversation to go and pay the bill. The two of you walked out into the cool night air, the parking lot damp from rain, shining under the streetlamps.

“I should take you home. Come and be my navigator again.”

You smiled at that. He cranked the heat in the car as you both settled yourself in, willing the fog to clear from its windows. He wound his way back through the empty streets, finally cutting the engine once you reached your little cul-de-sac.

“Come in, Alejandro. Please.”

He didn’t respond, but he followed you to the front door, wiping his feet on the mat after you. The house was pitch black, but still clinging on to the warmth of the day as it always did. Flicking the light on, you cringed a bit at the clutter around your pokey little living room as you steered him into it, books and papers littering the coffee table.

Normally your housemate would be around too, filling out the silence of the house, but she had headed back to Corpus Christi for the last few weeks of the year, leaving you alone. You had missed having an extra person around, but you were grateful for the solitude now. Imposing and intense as he was, you weren’t sure how she’d react to Alejandro.

Alejandro. The mystery that had shrouded your perspective of him for these past few months had, over the span of the past hour or so, almost entirely lifted. A man that you had always known to speak in absolute generalities, something profound in the air between you had changed. He now seemed to you at once both solid and unbelievably fragile, and his eyes bore into yours as you told him to make himself at home and set to fixing two sorely needed drinks.

“I think we only have bourbon in the house,” you called out to him from the kitchen.

“Anything,” he answered.

You half-filled two glasses with ice, the tray sweating onto the counter and making it slick, then poured the whiskey over top, at least two fingers’ worth for each. The clinking of the ice was the only sound in the house as you made your way back into the living room, handing him the slightly fuller glass. He took both glasses from your hands, and before you could say anything, set them down on the coffee table and drew you into an embrace.

Cradling the back of your head, he spoke softly into your hair. “I’m so sorry.”

“What for?” You could hear the slight crack in your voice, muffled by his shoulder.

“I shouldn’t have dragged you into all of this mess.”

You pulled away slightly so you could look into his eyes, which you now saw were as tearful as yours. “I’m glad you told me, Alejandro. Well, I – I guess _glad_ isn’t the right word, but I feel like I know you now. I understand you. I –” you trailed off, sniffling slightly.

“You don’t deserve to be burdened with my life. You have your own stretched out ahead of you, all I am –”

“Alejandro,” you interrupted, “the only reason I even _have_ a life is because of you.”

He closed his eyes at that, and the lump in your throat swelled at the sight of the tears that tracked their way down his cheeks. “Sometimes I feel like you’re the only good thing I’ve ever done.”

You pulled him in close and squeezed him tight, feeling the muscles in his back shifting as he held the nape of your neck. You knew now the danger those hands held, yet you felt nothing but peace as you stood in silence, breathing in tandem.

You weren’t sure who moved first, whether it was the shift of your head from its place on his shoulder, or the slide of his hand from your neck to your jaw, but your lips were suddenly brushing against his, chaste and hesitant. Alejandro’s other hand came up to cup the other side of your face and draw you in closer, and you could taste the tang of the beer on his breath as the kiss began to deepen.

Almost as soon as Alejandro began to trace his hand across your shoulder and down, he pulled away from you as if he had been burnt. You took a hasty step back and clasped a hand to your chest.

“What just happened?” you asked, shaken – yet a flutter was growing somewhere deep in your stomach.

Alejandro raked a hand back through his hair, trying in vain to form a sentence. He sat down heavily on the arm of the couch. You could almost see the cogs in his head whir and then stop.

“I need to – I should go.”

You surprised yourself with your boldness as your feet almost involuntarily took you over to him. You nudged at his thigh with your knee. “What if I don’t want you to go?”

He looked up at you. The rings around his eyes, always prominent, seemed far darker than usual. But those _eyes_. Even before that day in the mall, the image of his eyes had always hung somewhere in your mind, intensely hazel, beautiful and dangerous. He sensed the edge in your voice, and his pupils dilated slightly.

“What if I want you to stay, Alejandro?” you asked, still not recognising the person you’d suddenly morphed into. His mouth opened a little, and you moved to grasp the back of his head and twist your fingers into his hair, thick and soft.

He moved his hands from where they were tightly gripping the couch to slide up the sides of your legs, his eyes searching yours for permission. You smiled and nodded, and he almost knocked the breath out of you when he buried his head into your sweater, the most vulnerable you had ever seen him.

“You’re the first person I’ve been with since Mercedes died,” he said, surprisingly matter of fact.

“You’re the first person I’ve been with ever. Well, not _ever_ , but I don’t count the first time.”

He let out a little laugh, still resting his face against your stomach. Pulling back, he looked into your eyes. “Are you sure about this?”

“Completely.”

He shifted and stood, never releasing his grip on your waist. His hands seemed to span the length of your ribcage, and you let your body sag slightly as he pulled you in to kiss you gently. This time round you registered the slight scratch of his beard, the tickle on your upper lip, and your hands roamed over the expanse of his back.

“Where’s your bedroom?” he asked, breaking the kiss.

“Down past the kitchen,” you answered breathlessly. You let out an embarrassing little squeal as Alejandro suddenly grasped under your thighs and hoisted them around his middle before walking through the kitchen and down the hall. You reached out to flick the lights on as you went past, pointing him to your bedroom, where he dropped you onto the bed.

“The light’s blown, I haven’t had the chance to replace it. The switch for my lamp is on the floor,” you said, pointing. Alejandro stabbed at the switch with his foot, flooding the room with warm light, then turned to face you.

“Come here,” he said, voice low.

You complied, your smirk turning into a gasp when he lightly bit your neck, his hands pulling at the hem of your sweater to tug it up and over your head. In turn, you pulled at the heavy buckle of his belt, working the thick leather from the loops of his jeans as he unbuttoned your pants. The bulge in his jeans was obvious as you mirrored his movements and undid them before shifting to the buttons on his shirt, working up his belly. His hands were calloused but warm when he slid them into your pants to rest them against your bare hips, the skin-on-skin contact making you gasp. You pushed his now open shirt up and off his shoulders and he kicked his jeans off along with it, you doing the same with your own pants.

Alejandro’s face was the most open you had ever seen it, smirking faintly as he stepped back to take you in. You traced a hand admiringly across his chest, drawing a hiss from his lips as you grazed over his nipple.

“Bit sensitive are we, Alejandro?” you teased.

“I told you it had been a while,” he growled back, surprising you by whipping your thin t-shirt over your head, his hands immediately moving to the clasp of your bra.

Suddenly a little self-conscious, you clutched the bra to your chest, and Alejandro stepped back, concerned. Whatever courage you had had before was beginning to fade as your mind raced with the possibilities of what was to come.

Alejandro gently stroked his thumb over the crease that was forming between your brows. “You okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just…what’s gonna happen after _this_? What’s gonna happen when we wake up tomorrow? Are you going to have to leave? Am I… am I… this can’t be a normal relationship, not with what you do, not with the age gap… oh God, what are my parents gonna thi –”

“Hey hey hey, shhh…” interjected Alejandro, rubbing small circles just above your shoulder blade. “I don’t know the answer to any of that. All I know is that you’re very beautiful and I care about you and that’s more than I can say about anyone else I’ve known for the past eight years of my life. Here, look at me.”

You pulled away to look into his eyes.

“Nothing has to happen tonight, or ever.”

You considered his face, so rugged but kind, and you realised with a shocking clarity just how much you cared about him too. Just how _alive_ he made you feel.

“I don’t feel like I’ve ever done something as impulsive as this in my fucking _life_ , Alejandro.”

He chuckled and took your hand in his. “We don’t need –”

“But I think I want to.”

Before he had the chance to respond, you grabbed his face and pulled him into a kiss, teeth clacking with the force of it. Fuck tomorrow morning, fuck what your parents would think, fuck _everything_.

Alejandro finished unhooking your bra, and you let it fall to the floor with the rest of your clothes. He was still kissing you as he brought a rough hand up to cup your breast, and you gasped into his mouth when he pulled your nipple in retaliation for earlier. You let him crowd you back against the bed, and you sat down hard when your knees hit the frame. His eyes, so gentle just a moment before, had taken on a glint now as he moved, tiger-like, over you, sending you scrabbling backwards toward the headboard. It bashed against the wall, pitching both of you into a fit of juvenile giggles.

“Thank god Cynthia isn’t here,” you breathed, cheeks aching from laughing.

“Cynthia?”

“My housemate.”

He shook his head, smiling, wiping your own grin right off your face as he dipped to kiss along your sternum, trailing kisses down your belly, delivering a sharp nip to your right hipbone, just above the line of your underwear. He hooked his fingers around them, drawing them slowly down your faintly shaking legs before moving back up to lick a long stripe up your inner thigh.

The growing heat at the apex of your thighs began to pulse when Alejandro looked up at you, never breaking eye contact as he gently blew a stream of air across your cunt. Wantonly, you threw your head back against the pillows, letting your body melt, boneless, into the mattress.

“ _Hermosa_ ,” he rumbled, lightly spreading you apart with his fingers and grazing his teeth over your clit. The shock of contact made your hands fly to his head, gripping his hair and pulling, drawing a low groan from him, a snippet of information you stored away for later.

He shifted one of his arms up to anchor your hips down, the fingers of his other hand circling your clit before trailing down to trace your entrance.

“Look at me,” he commanded, voice somehow lower than before, and when you were too slow to respond he tapped his thumb against your clit.

“Look at me, _querida_.”

Fuck him and his smart mouth. You knew he’d use that Spanish against you. You propped yourself up on your elbows and looked into his eyes as he dipped his middle finger into you, making you moan and buck your hips. He spread the wetness up to your clit, circling it once, twice, before plunging his finger back in to the first knuckle. Involuntarily, your head fell back against the pillows, but you almost jumped out of your skin when he placed his mouth over your clit, sucking gently and then harder as you writhed. You could feel the tip of his nose pressing into you as he switched from sucking to circling his tongue maddeningly slowly around your clit.

As he curled his fingers deep inside you, searching out that spot that made stars explode behind your eyelids, you realised how quickly he had shifted from caring to possessive, quiet and vulnerable to predatory, and a further thrill shot through you. You weren’t kidding before when you said your first time hadn’t been worth counting – but _this_ …

“ _Querida…_ ” Alejandro’s voice cut through your reverie. “You close?”

You managed to let out a strangled “mm hmm”, balling the sheets in your fists.

“I wanna see your face when you come,” he said, voice almost as strangled as your own.

“Fuck, Alejandro,” you moaned. You barely recognised your own voice.

“Look at me, baby.”

You complied, blessed with the sight of Alejandro grinning smugly up at you, beard glistening, the hazel of his eyes almost entirely obscured by his pupils. His fingers still pumped rhythmically into you, his other hand toying with your clit, and you could feel yourself cresting, ready to break. He must’ve seen it in your eyes because he began to circle your clit more rapidly and you came with a shout, back arching sharply off the bed. Your climax poured over you in blissful, tingling waves, and you sank back down, Alejandro moving up your body, peppering you with lazy kisses.

“So,” _kiss_ “fucking,” _kiss_ “beautiful,” _kiss_.

You smiled, almost dizzy, barely able to open your eyes. He kissed all down your jaw, finally reaching your mouth, and you lazily curled your tongue past his lips, grasping the back of his head.

“Fucking hell, Alejandro,” you breathed, throat raw. “Just – just give me a sec.”

“I’ll give you all the time in the world, _querida_.”

You hummed at his Spanish, all gruff and low.

“Oh you like that, do you, _coraz_ _ón_?”

You traced a languid hand over your collarbone and hummed again.

He dipped his head to kiss under your breast, nipping lightly at the soft flesh. “Interesting.”

“You know what I’d like even more, Alejandro?”

He had moved to the other breast, grazing his teeth over your nipple. “Hmm?”

“For you to fuck me.”

You felt him exhale sharply out of his nose, biting your nipple fully now, which drew a gasp from your lips. He sighed suddenly, lifting himself up to look at you.

“As much as I want to, what are we gonna do about protection?”

“I’m on the pill.”

“Thought you weren’t seeing anyone.”

“Mm mm. It’s for my periods.”

The crease between is brows relaxed at that. “You sure, _querida_?”

“Very.”

Smiling, he dipped back in to kiss you, hands clasping your jaw. His beard, still slightly damp from before, scratched against your chin and he threaded his fingers through your hair. Your own hands trailed down his belly, yielding but firm, to cup him through his underwear. His cock jumped under the fabric and he bit your bottom lip harshly. You decided to try something.

Moving quickly, you turned over, pulling his body under you so you straddled him, sitting across his chest, his hair tickling the backs of your thighs. His mouth dropped open in surprise, and you pushed your fingers into his hair to tug lightly, then a little harder as his pupils dilated almost entirely, blown wide, his lips kiss-bruised and blushing red.

“Fuck me,” he breathed, floored.

“I plan to.”

You reached behind you to grasp his cock again, a little harder than before, revelling in how he bucked under you, his hands flying up to hold your thighs in a grip you were sure would bruise. You shimmied backwards to sit on his lap, pushing his torso down again when he rose to follow you. His underwear was swiftly discarded, and you wrapped a careful hand around his cock, thumbing the tip thoughtfully.

You had never given anyone a blow job before, but there was a first time for everything, right? Craning forwards, you sucked the head into your mouth, earning you a deep, throaty groan. You were surprised at just how salty his pre-cum was, and you slowly took more of him into your mouth, halting when you felt his hands grip your head.

“Baby… fuck… you gotta – you gotta stop, otherwise I’m gonna come in that fucking mouth of yours.”

You pulled yourself off him, but not before licking a long stripe up his length.

“Come here,” he said, voice shaky. He sat up and you shifted to settle yourself fully in his lap, his cock bumping against your stomach. He took both your breasts in his hands, squeezing lightly. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

You grinned, rising up on your knees to position yourself above his cock before sinking slowly down, taking him inch by inch. You both moaned in tandem as you bottomed out, the base of his cock grinding against your clit. He cupped your ass and somehow brought you further down, making you moan even louder.

“You gotta move,” he said, voice strained, almost desperate.

Carefully, you rose up, gasping as his cock dragged against your walls, still hyper-sensitive from his fingers. You let yourself drop back down, rocking into him, clutching the back of his neck for support.

Suddenly, as if possessed, Alejandro grabbed your hips, digging his nails in to move you himself. He thrust harshly up to meet you, almost slamming you down onto his cock, the slap of skin against skin borderline obscene. Still holding your hips, he angled you back so he was lying fully on you and began to fuck you into the mattress. Your hands scrabbled up his back for some purchase, _anything_ , and he pulled a yell from you as he bit harshly into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, laving his tongue over the spot, soothing it. Your bedframe, flimsy at the best of times, squeaked violently under the force of his thrusts, and you closed your eyes and let your head flop back over the edge of the mattress, content to let Alejandro take what he needed from you.

He continued to piston into you, garbling nonsense in Spanish into your ear. He somehow hit your spot with every thrust, and you could feel your second climax building as he rose up above you, hands either side of your head.

“I’m close,” he said through gritted teeth. “Where, baby?”

“Inside me.”

“Fuck.”

His hips stuttered and he collapsed onto you with a deep groan, your own orgasm not far behind, the vibrations of his voice rumbling through both of you. His skin was slick and fiery-hot against yours. With both of your chests heaving in tandem, you trailed your fingertips lazily, lightly down his back. He shifted then, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you on top of him, his softening cock still inside you. His hands mirrored your own, tracing down your spine to circle the twin divots at its base. You propped yourself up on his chest to look into his eyes. His eyelids were still half-open, but only barely.

“Fuck, Alejandro.”

“Fuck is right, _querida_.” His voice, rough and fucked-out, sent tingles rushing down your back, and you lay your head back down on his chest to listen to the slow of his heart.

Though the delicious ache of your body said otherwise, you still couldn’t fully believe what you had done. All of this – the impulsivity, the spontaneity, the gorgeous _filthiness_ of it all – was so utterly alien to you.

For now, though, you were content to let the ever-present racing of your mind ease away, Alejandro’s solid chest your pillow. He had always been a man of few words, and for now, you were happy to keep it that way, caught up in blissful afterglow.

Eventually, when the stickiness between your thighs grew unbearable, you untangled your limbs and went into your bathroom to find a washcloth and wipe yourself down. You sensed Alejandro’s roving, sleepy eyes on your body as you moved around. He was still supine on the bed when you returned, shamelessly, openly naked, letting you clean him off with the cloth without protest.

He caught your wrist before you could return to the bathroom. “Stay.”

Smiling, you acquiesced, dropping the cloth in the corner to deal with later. He arranged himself around you, tucking his knees in behind yours and carefully encircling your waist with a heavy forearm. He pressed gentle, tickly kisses to the nape of your neck.

“Alejandro?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

He scratched his bearded chin across your shoulder, nuzzling you, answering you with kisses. Whatever the fallout from this, it would keep until morning.


End file.
